


The Bodyguard

by Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)



Series: Kindling (spinoffs) [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Bodyguard, Gen, POV Outsider, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:29:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22670080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel
Summary: Miss Loysia impulse-hires the Mandalorian to be her bodyguard for the afternoon. He turns out to be an intriguing companion, just not in the way she'd first assumed.(An alternate POV on chapter 4 ofContinuation)
Series: Kindling (spinoffs) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638340
Comments: 12
Kudos: 119





	The Bodyguard

**Author's Note:**

> This is an outsider point of view on [chapter 4 of Continuation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22408624) because I wanted to write some cliche Bodyguard Mission stuff and then Miss Loysia came around and swept me off my feet with her awesomeness.

FAMOUS LORRDIAN DANCER LOYSIA GIVES HER LAST PERFORMANCE!

Loysia puts down her datapad and sighs. It sounds so final when she sees it written in the headlines like that. The type of dancing she made her fortune with, with its fast spins and high leaps, can't be maintained on a professional level into your 40s, not at the high-art performances she's been doing. It had felt like time to move on while she was still at her peak; find other avenues to focus on. In a couple of weeks she's expected on Sharlissia to host a week-long public dance competition, the biggest event of their rotation.

Still, she's feeling a little aimless right now. At least she anticipated feeling like this on the morning after her farewell performance, and has commissioned herself something to raise her spirits. A necklace with gems representing all the planets in the system where she's performed. It's something to be excited about as she gets dressed.

When Loysia is called into the receiving room by her butler, she expects her jeweler, Mr Cerone. And he is indeed waiting for her, his case already laid out on the marble slab of the table, a piece of velvet spread out in readiness for handling precious jewels.

The tall figure clad in shining beskar that is waiting by the doorway is a surprise. A Mandalorian coming to this area is rare enough, but one working as protective escort? Now there is a rare event.

Mr. Cerone usually lets his bodyguard wait outside, but Loysia can understand the urge to show off this prestigious companion. The well-polished metal of his armour give him the appearance of a rare work of art. She wonders what he's done to earn such a suit for himself. Beskar is rare these days.

The necklace is without compare, but in truth its fit does not require as much adjustment as she requests. She just likes to keep them a little bit longer. She wouldn't have been a Lorrdian if she hadn't tried to get a read on such an intriguing subject, after all.

So she observes the Mandalorian subtly while dealing with the jeweler. The beskar-clad man stands patiently by the door, posture one of alert ease. He is tall, and though the armour and its padded underlayers undoubtedly add some bulk, looks well built. He wears a blaster and a jetpack.

Though he stands still with the discipline of long training, his slight head motions indicate that he is paying attention to the conversation.

"And who is your companion?" she asks Mr. Cerone while he makes an adjustment to the clasp of her necklace.

"This is Mr Varik."

Mr Varik inclines his head slightly in a polite nod of greeting. Loysia likes that; if he is impressed by her fame or the richness of her house, he doesn't show anything of it. She vastly prefers that over fawning.

"Mr Varik is in the region for a couple of days, and I have engaged him to accompany me on my morning deliveries," Mr Cerone says, trying the necklace on her again. It fits beautifully. "I find it adds a certain… weight, to my presentation."

And yes, _there_ it is—she could swear Mr Varik just rolled his eyes a little. This is like a large tiger letting itself be walked; Mandalorian and jeweler are both keenly aware that the leash only exists because the tiger consents to it, and that this state is not guaranteed to continue.

Oh, she _has_ to have him. She hasn't had a man who was any kind of challenge in far too long, and the thought of getting this Mandalorian to take off his armour for her is irresistible.

"It certainly does lend weight," she agrees in a purr. "Tell me Mr Varik, are you engaged for this afternoon? I could use your companionship for a shopping trip. It will be worth your while."

Her normal bodyguard will be unavailable solely for the reason that she just decided on this shopping trip half a minute ago, but how could she not take this opportunity?

His head tilts very slightly; she's surprised him, she thinks.

"I am free to take work in the afternoons," he says. His voice is low and smooth, a little flattened out by his helmet's voice modulator, but nonetheless quite an attractive sound.

She can't wait to find out what he sounds like without the helmet.

"Excellent! Can you return here at at two?"

When Mr Varik arrives that afternoon she has him brought into the hallways, so he can watch as her maid dresses her in the robes that Lorrdian ladies on Sanbra customarily wear when out in public. Loysia resists the urge to check if he is watching, but she makes a little bit of a show of it; the rich red of her sleek dress, the trim, well-muscled length of her legs, all of it gradually concealed in the layers and layers of lightweight material. Until finally her long hair is covered by her veil and hood, and then she is ready, only her face showing.

He hesitates a little when she leads him to her sleek little luxury landspeeder. She's not sure if it's because it only has two seats, pressing two passengers quite cozily together, or if he's just never seen a speeder like that. She gets in, and a moment later he's walked around to get in on the other side. It's probably a little cramped with his armour and his jetpack, she realises belatedly.

"If there's not enough space for you, we can take the other one," she offers, gesturing at the much more sedate landspeeder in the garage.

"It's fine, Ma'am. I've just never seen one like this."

"Oh, do call me Loya, Mr Varik. No need to stand on ceremony, is there?"

She commanded the speeder droid to take them to her favourite cluster of shops.

"Indeed. I am simply called Varik," the Mandalorian says. "Mr Cerone seemed to think the 'Mister' added to my presence."

"Oh, I don't think you need it, Varik," she throws him a flirty smile. "How are you finding Sanbra? Have you been here long?"

"Two days now. It seems like a pleasant place, though w—I haven't explored much of it."

She launches into a passionate summing up of places and events he simply can't miss; she loves her city, and little gives her as much joy as getting to share it with somebody new.

He is unfailingly polite, and so far apparently resistant to her charms. If her attempts at making conversation bother him, she can't see it in his body language. The opposite; he seems engaged, makes sounds and hand motions to indicate that he's listening. He doesn't really offer information about himself, but he's willing to answer as long as she doesn't get too personal.

She had expected him to be a loner, undersocialised and with little tolerance for her attempts to connect. It's interesting to discover he isn't.

"We don't see many Mandalorians here."

"We have become a rare people," he agrees neutrally, and Loysia hides her grimace.

"I apologise. What a tactless thing to say." She doesn't wait for a response, because hearing him say something to absolve her would be way worse somehow. "I could eat lunch. Have you eaten?"

He shakes his head, so she leads him to her favourite lunch restaurant.

"They make the galaxy's best Zhunti buns, perfectly soft with a hint of crunch, and the _filling_ —just a work of art, there's this fruit…"

She gets all the way to sitting down at a table with him, the waitstaff droid already standing by, before she realises he looks tense. He's not taking off his helmet.

"Is this—would you prefer a private dining room? I'm sure I could ask—"

Varik shakes his head.

"I do not need to eat. There is no need to cater to my comfort."

"Well, that just makes me want to do it more," she says, words slipping out a little more flirty than intended. He tenses slightly, and ah. Okay. She drops the idea of seducing him. He clearly isn't into it.

"I'll have two zhunti buns, and four more packed up and put into my speeder for later," she orders with the patiently waiting droid.

Varik looks at her, and she shrugs.

"If I'm making you sit here and watch me eat while you haven't eaten, the least I can do is make sure you can try them once you get back to your ship," she smiles. "They really are very good."

The food arrives very quickly, and they're both silent for a while as she eats the delicate filled pastry.

"If I may ask," he finally asks politely, "could you tell me about the customs here for… covering up?"

She nods that yes, of course that's fine. It's a fair question, really.

"The Lorrdians were forced by circumstances to develop a silent language, mostly based on body language. So to us to be seen unrobed is a thing for in the private sphere, with friends or family," she explains. "I would feel uncomfortably exposed to be unrobed here, where just anybody could… read my thoughts, I suppose. And I perform… performed, without the robes, obviously. To let the audience fully see and feel my dance is part of the performance."

He nods along slowly.

"Is it expected or just customary?"

"The custom developed from the many Lorrdians who settled here, so it is very customary in the Lorrdian segment of Sandran society. Not actually mandatory or even particularly expected though, I suppose."

He hums in thoughtful acknowledgement.

"Do you always stay covered in public?" she asks him.

"Yes. I only take my helmet off when I'm alone."

It sounds lonely and sad, but she has no right to say that to him. For one thing, she's also covered up. For another, she's the one trying to treat her bodyguard to her favourite food because making somebody smile today will make her feel better.

He is quiet as she finishes her food, and they walk around for a little bit in the little street full of exclusive shops.

"I've not heard of any of your people in this line of work," she says finally. "Is bounty hunting not a more common profession for Mandalorians? It is surely more exciting than squiring ladies around."

"It is, and I have done... that kind of work," he answers. Then, long minutes later, "high risk-high reward jobs involve shady ports and a lower chance of making it back to your ship in one piece. My priorities are different now."

She turns into a clothing boutique.

"Anything that prompted that decision?"

She thinks back on the minute pause he took at a shop window full of children's toys. _Ah_.

"Do you have a child?"

He goes quiet, and she continues to browse clothes, not wanting him to feel pressured. It takes a long time for him to answer.

"Yes. A small son."

"Is he on the ship, waiting for you?"

He nods, and there's something else, she can see it. _Somebody_ else. Is that why he is politely desinterested in her attempts to flirt with him?

"Is he alone?"

He tenses a little, and she wonders if it's at the implication that he would leave his young son alone all day, or about something else.

"No," he finally says. "He's with my…" he trails off, and Loysia tries not to show how intrigued she is, because he is clearly hesitating over what to call this other person. He finally settles on a weak "Crew mate."

She takes the risk of offending him.

"Is this crew mate the reason I can't seem to interest you in a place in my bed?"

He actually jerks his head around to look at her, but she thinks he's mostly shocked that she would state her intentions so openly.

"I suppose so, yes," he said finally. There's a quiet kind of… longing, perhaps, in his voice that tugs at something inside of her.

They are both quiet for a while as she tries on pairs of evening gloves.

Loysia has always been curious. Sometimes a little too much for her own good. Some would say 'nosey'. But the future isn't looking very exciting right now, and she likes this serious, quiet man, patiently escorting her with his vastly overqualified skillset. A man from a culture of proud warriors, obviously capable of great violence, to have earned himself beskar armour. But also a man whose arms shift when he mentioned his son, as if his body subconsciously reaches out to hold him.

She thinks about the child that must be waiting for this man on his ship, and the crewmate whom he'd like to be more to than just crew mate.

"Have they looked around the city yet?"

He shakes his head, but takes a while to answer.

"They… they stand out, here. It's not safe."

His body language suggests it's not a lie, but the careful choice of words makes it clear it's not the outright truth either. She wonders what species they are to stand out so much. Many of the ladies here on Sanbra do cover themselves with robes, but not such a great majority that going without in itself is enough to stand out.

She thinks about what she knows about his people. Brought down so far, now scattered and hunted. He is probably taking a risk being out in the open, especially with somebody who might be photographed, but Sanbra was never on the side of the Imperials and he can defend himself.

He doesn't sound like he is willing to let his crewmate risk it with his son. Loysia idly wonders how new this situation is. Is his child a newborn? Is the crewmate its mother? She doesn't think so, from the way he'd hesitated to refer to them.

"They must be going stir crazy by now."

He lets out a rueful huff of breath, agreeing with her.

"What if they went robed, like I am?"

The shift of his shoulders suggests that he's looking at her, though his helmet isn't fully turned toward her.

"I'm sure I have spares, I'll loan you a set when we get back," she says, idly trying on a hat, eyes deliberately on the mirror. She thinks he might refuse if she does this too quickly, so she drops the subject for a while.

They talk idly about the city for a while, or rather, she mostly talks and he mostly listens.

"There's a wonderful concert tonight in the university park," she says when they're in the next shop. Hats. Loysia does love a good hat, but at this point she's mostly using them as distraction so that Mr Varik doesn't feel pushed. "Acoustic music, there's usually dancing—and the park itself is very lovely too. Do you think your son and crewmate might enjoy that?"

His helmet tilts slightly as he considers that.

"I am a patron of the music and dance conservatory, so they send me tickets to these things. I'd be happy to see some of them get used."

He is silent for long enough for her to try on two hats and dismiss them.

"I think—yes. They would really like that." She can tell he is uncomfortable with the favour, but is accepting on behalf of his son and crewmate. The prospect of returning to his ship to tell them they can go out might feel like relief. "Thank you. That's very kind."

The last shop she goes to is a chocolatier, where they immediately recognise her and are quick to call in the owner. He leads them around the displays in his chef's whites, offering tiny chocolates that explode flavours into her mouth.

"Are you sure you don't wish to try? They are really quite spectacular," she turns to Varik. But of course, the helmet— "I'm sure Mr Kre'fey has a room where you could retreat in private for a moment."

The owner begins to suggest something, but Mr Varik shakes his head.

"I am here to do my job, Ma'am. Leaving you alone so I can taste candy does not fit with that." She can hear from his voice that he's smiling, not offended. As if it amuses him that she is not treating him like a bodyguard.

Mr Kre'fey huffs a little at hearing his exquisite works of flavour-art be referred to as 'candy', but Loysia distracts him with a mention of an upcoming dinner party she desires chocolates for, and they move on.

In the end she orders several assortments to be brought to her speeder. She discreetly directs to include a modest box with two of each of the more primary flavours. The Mandalorian does not seem like a man who indulges a sweet tooth often; some of the more avant garde flavours might not be to his taste.

"Do you think you'll stay here long?" she asks when they're on their way back to her house, sat closely together in the speeder.

He makes a considering noise.

"Another couple of days, I think. We have places to be."

"Ah." She tries not to sound disappointed. "I am travelling to Sharlissia in a couple of weeks, to judge at their big public dance competition. It's… it's crazy, the crowds—quite alarming really. I could use a man of your talents to convince the crowd not to mob me."

He nods.

"So if your plans change—or if you know somebody you'd recommend… let me know."

"I will keep it in mind," he nods, but she can tell he knows it won't be him. Who knows, maybe he does know somebody. Having a Mandalorian at her side might convince the crush of the crowd to keep some distance; certainly it will work better than the ineffectual bodyguard provided by the event last time.

She resolves to give him a commlink.

"Are you going out with your crewmate tonight?" she fishes gently when they arrive back at her house. "That concert really is quite wonderful. Does your crewmate like to dance?"

"She—yes. She likes to dance," he says after a long moment, as if he's playing back a memory.

Loysia stops herself from pushing more. She has no right to butt into the man's life, but she hopes she's given him the means to take that mysterious crewmate who likes to dance out for a fun night. How things work out from there is none of her concern, but she hopes it goes well for him.

Maybe he'll take her up on her offer of repeat work in the future and she'll hear how it turns out. Even though her own day didn't go the way she'd initially hoped for, she still finds herself cheered considerably.

**Author's Note:**

> ...yes, Din picked that fake name because he felt like a slab of meat.


End file.
